‘The intellectual’, according to the first Czech President, playwright and dissident, Václav Havel,

According to Christopher Hitchens (2008) who claimed the role, the intellectual is someone ‘who makes his or her living through the battle of ideas’. Implicit in this view is the notion of the intellectual as outsider to the powerful. Thus, in his 1993 Reith Lectures, Edward Said observed,

Or, as he would put it later, ‘the intellectual's provisional house is the domain of an exigent, resistant, intransigent art into which alas, one can neither retreat nor search for solutions’. Similarly, ‘It is the responsibility of intellectuals’, according to Noam Chomsky, ‘to speak the truth and to expose lies’. ‘The intellectual’, according to Foucault, ‘spoke the truth to those who had yet to see it, in the name of those who were forbidden to speak the truth: he was conscience, consciousness and eloquence.’ In short, intellectuals are admirable, even heroic figures who ‘speak truth to power’, counselling on the proper use of power without possessing it and in doing so risking themselves for the public good. They may be a uniquely modern attempt to ennoble politics, but lacking power, they cannot be described as modern philosopher kings who possess and command both.

New Atlantis, Francis Bacon's 1626 incomplete and posthumous novel, depicts the ideal country of Bensalem administered by Salomon's House, the ‘eye of the kingdom’, a college of wise and philanthropic sages who will employ Bacon's new instruments and experiments to relieve man's estate.1 New Atlantis anticipates how Bacon's discoveries would lay the foundations for a new society administered by scientists that would presage a life of health, wealth and peace. Though Bacon's unfinished novel seemed fanciful and far-fetched, in due course the claim that scientists should take a much more active role in politics assumed increasing prominence and support. Science was disinterested and its hard-won objective knowledge implicitly endorsed a notion of the common good. Politics, on the other hand, was subjective, partial and incoherent, leading to wasteful, inefficient and dangerous public policy. It therefore made a great deal of sense to have scientists take a greater role in politics, though the nature of this involvement and its implications for both science and politics remained less clear. For some, science could play a valuable advisory role, providing important insights for making better policy. For others who were more ambitious, there was the hope that scientific insights and methods would not only supplement but in due course supplant politics and politicians, leading to a new world of scientific rule. Here then we had a new manifestation of the paradox of the philosopher king and the ambition to resolve it on modern terms, where the philosopher is the scientist and rule is justified not on the basis of individual character and judgement, but on incontrovertible and demonstrated scientific truths. Does the rule by the modern scientist conclusively solve the paradox of the philosopher king? We begin to explore this question by examining the difference between the philosopher and the modern scientist and the increasing authority of science and scientists and their political role as advisors and rulers. We then evaluate the powerful contemporary headwinds against scientist advisors and kings, and in our concluding comments question whether ethical, democratic and philosophical challenges to science and scientists reassert in new terms the paradox of the philosopher king.

Solomon the Wise, Ashoka the Great and Suleiman the Magnificent were all powerful rulers who were especially esteemed and celebrated because they were wise. All three were also distinguished by their piety, Solomon as the builder of the First Temple in Jerusalem, Suleiman as Kanuni or ‘Law Giver’ who harmonised kanun or sultanic law with Sharia, and Ashoka whose Edicts promoted dharma and Buddhism. The importance of faith and religion for these wise kings prompts us to ask to what extent does piety reconceive and resolve the paradox of the philosopher king, reconciling wisdom and power, philosophy and politics? Classical political philosophy inevitably had to confront the gods as sacred founders, dangerous demons, hearth and boundary deities. And of course each great religion with its unique conception of the sacred adopted a diverse range of responses in its engagement with philosophy and politics. As we have seen, the religions of the book, or the Abrahamic revealed religions, with their conception of a monotheistic, all powerful and providential god that promised immortality of the soul, fundamentally challenged and redefined both philosophy and politics, reconceiving the relationship between wisdom and power and thereby redefining the promise of the philosopher king. The orthopraxy of Judaism and Islam, where Moses who revealed the Torah and Mohammed who received the Qur’an were both regarded as prophets and lawgivers, meant that the prophet–lawgiver resembled in important respects the philosopher king. Thus Islamic philosophers such as Al-Farabi could introduce and reconcile the Platonic conception of virtuous rule and the philosopher king with the Qur’an, and in doing so, their ideas were adopted, subject to halakhic modifications, into Jewish thought, beginning with Philo of Alexandria, reaching its zenith with Maimonides and ending with Spinoza. By contrast, the philosopher king was more theologically problematic for Christianity as a religion of orthodoxy that distinguished between faith and law. In this chapter we will focus on the way Christianity reconceived and transformed the philosopher king, not only because these innovations had far-reaching political implications, but because the ambiguous place of the philosopher king in Christian thought allows us to see more clearly the philosophical and political promise and limitations of the ‘pious king’ as the modern philosopher king.

The Capuchin monk François Leclerc du Tremblay, the close confident and counsellor of Cardinal de Richelieu, was referred to as the éminence grise. Since then, grey eminence has been the sobriquet for influential counsellors to political leaders, the hidden power behind the throne. History offers many instances of such a complex relationship between advisor and ruler. Joseph became counsellor to the Pharaoh, Seneca the Younger advised Nero, Averroes was physician and counsellor to Caliph Abu Yaqub Yusuf, Su Shi served Song Emperor Shenzong, Descartes was associated with Princess Elizabeth of Bohemia and Queen Christina of Sweden, Leibniz was employed in the House of Brunswick. But history also testifies to the dangers of such associations. Perhaps the most famous is Plato's failed attempts to instruct Dionysius I and II, tyrants of Syracuse. As we saw, though initially admired, Legalist philosopher Han Fei was later forced to drink poison by Emperor Qin, founder of Imperial China. Lord High Chancellor Sir Thomas More was beheaded by Henry VIII, King of England. Marxist theorist and revolutionary Nikolai Bukharin was executed by Stalin in the Great Purge.

That a philosopher may serve as counsellor or advisor to kings acknowledges the problems we have explored in the paradox of the philosopher king. It recognises the different character and virtues of philosophers and kings; that philosophers may be reluctant to rule and may not be skilled in ruling; and that rulers may seek wisdom to rule better but are jealous of their dignity and power. In doing so, however, such an advisory role also seems to offer the ideal solution to the paradox, overcoming these obstacles. By separating the philosopher king into its two constituent elements while linking them in the role of counsellor and ruler, it exploits the specific strengths of each while lightening the burdens they would otherwise bear, so that the philosopher need not sacrifice completely the life of the mind, while kings can defer to wisdom to enhance their rule without jeopardising their power and dignity. Does the philosopher as advisor to rulers therefore represent the conclusive union of the wisdom and power and the definitive answer to the paradox and promise of the philosopher king?

In this book we have explored the manifold, distinct and complex expressions of the seemingly indomitable impulse and spirit to resolve the paradox of the philosopher king to secure its promise of justice. What each account has revealed is that rushing through diverse channels and carving new courses, the powerful ambition to unite wisdom and power to fulfil the promise of progress and perfectibility has nevertheless met with limited or elusive success. The hope and promise of the pious king has in practice meant the prophet was soon displaced by the pope and pious prince, both exercising contending and questionable authority. The public intellectual was revealed as a tragic figure whose authority would dissolve with success or whose voice was increasingly drowned in the cacophony of views and opinions amplified by advances in modern information and communication technologies. Artists as creative philosopher kings were revealed to be either enter-tainers or minions of the powerful, with the few wise limited in their reach and influence. The combination of wise counsellor and powerful ruler seemed to be the conclusive resolution of the paradox of the philosopher king, though in fact it has meant an unstable relationship where the wise are at the mercy of wary and proud rulers or alternatively threaten to become hidden leaders. Modern scientists as the new philosopher kings increasingly confronted challenges to their legitimacy by a public now wary and watchful of their technocratic ambitions, even as their innova-tions were eagerly sought and acclaimed as benefactions. Finally, attempts to secure wisdom in democracy through institutions or, more ambitiously, the temptation to see the people as the wise sovereign had to be tempered by the limits to public deliberation and judgement.

The reasons for the frustrated ambitions and faltering hopes of these various expressions of the modern philosopher king are necessarily and inevitably complex and diverse. From a synoptic perspective, however, three persistent aspects reveal themselves as major obstacles to the promise of the modern philosopher king. Few would deny the goodness of wisdom and, equally, most concede that the coincidence of celerity of thought, facility with memory and above all the need to have measured temperament and disposition to attain wisdom means there are formidable obstacles to our possession of this virtue.

‘Xi Jinping Thought on Socialism with Chinese Characteristics in the New Era’, or more simply ‘Xi Jinping Thought’ was incorporated in the Constitution of the Chinese Communist Party in 2017 and in the People's Republic of China Constitution in 2018. As one of the only two leaders with a ‘Thought’ (the other is Mao Zedong, the founder of the People's Republic of China), Xi Jinping rises above his two most recent predecessors – Hu Jintao with his ‘scientific development perspective’ and Jiang Zemin with his ‘important thought of the Three Represents’, and even Deng Xiaoping who only had a ‘theory’. Though the precise meaning of ‘Xi Jinping Thought’ remains elusive, what is more intriguing is why Xi took such pains to alter the Party and state constitutions to announce its existence. Politics is of course one possible reason – the legal entrenchment of Xi Jinping Thought provides him with a constitutional fortification and bulwark against opportunistic domestic challenges to his leadership. Yet the means chosen to secure his position, focusing on Xi as ‘thinker’ and his thought and ideas as his most distinguishing and meritorious contribution, suggests that it is not sufficient to occupy the highest office and wield the greatest power to be an outstanding leader; to be truly exceptional a leader also needs a unique ‘Thought’ and therefore needs to be thinker or philosopher. Philosophy or wisdom if not superior, at the very least complements and completes political authority or power. Xi Jinping and Xi Jinping Thought therefore confirms the centrality of the idea of the ‘philosopher king’ in modern China. Xi Jinping and China are not unique in this respect. Modern founders of states and revolutionary leaders have also tended to provide a philosophical or theoretical justification for their actions. Consider, for example, the famous writings or books that accompanied, justified or defended new states: Lenin's What is to Be Done (1902); Mein Kampf (1926), Hitler's notorious justification for the Third Reich; Mussolini's The Doctrine of Fascism (1932); Stalin's Marxism and the National Question (1935); Nasser's The Philosophy of the Revolution (1956); Mao's The Little Red Book (1964); Mahathir's Malay Dilemma (1970); Qaddafi's The Green Book (1975); Khomeini's Islamic Government (1979); Kim Il-sung's Jeojakjip (1979); Niyazov's The Rukhnama (2001).

In his celebrated Las Meninas, Diego Velázquez portrays himself with brush in hand at his easel, his brother Don José Nieto Velázquez in the distant doorway, Phillip IV of Spain and Queen Mariana reflected in a mirror and the central figure, the Infanta Margarita in the foreground, accompanied by attendants, the dwarfs Maribarbola and Nicolas Pertusato and a hound. Las Meninas shows Velázquez reflecting on his role in Court, and in doing so inviting us to confront the profound question of the relationship between the painter and the king, artist and politics. Are painters no more than the dwarfs and hounds, tolerated only for the amusement and entertainment they provide? Perhaps they’re another useful resource at the disposal of power, celebrating, memorialising and thereby enhancing their patron's grandeur? Or are painters, indeed all artists, creative geniuses whose works disclose their uncanny abilities and profound insights, demonstrating their inherent parity if not superiority to kings and queens, so that they are philosopher kings?

Is the modern artist the most successful resolution of the paradox of the philosopher king? In our attempt to explore this possibility, we inevitably confront one of the most complex and contested threshold questions of ‘what is art’. Art seems to comprehend an extraordinary range of things, from the familiar forms of painting, music, writing, dance and statues to modern forms ranging from extreme and confronting performance art displays that involve surgery and bodily mutilations, to Marcel Duchamp's 1917 readymade sculpture La Fountaine consisting of a porcelain urinal signed ‘R. Mutt’, Damien Hirst's 1991 The Physical Impossibility of Death in the Mind of Someone Living consisting of a preserved tiger shark submerged in formaldehyde in a glass-panel display case, Tracey Emin's 1998 My Bed consisting of her bed with bedroom objects in a dishevelled state, Maurizio Cattelan's 2019 Comedian created in an edition of three that appears as a fresh banana affixed to a wall with duct tape, and even silence in the form of John Cage's 1952 three-movement musical composition 4’33” where the score instructs performers not to play their instruments during the entire duration of the piece.

In the Kurukshetra battlefield, soon after blowing the conch of war, Pandava prince Arjuna instructs his charioteer Krishna to drive to the centre of the battle between the armies of the Pandavas and the Kauravas to see who is eager for war. When he does, he is dismayed to see his own relatives, beloved friends and revered teachers among the enemy. Filled with doubt and despair, he wonders if it is more noble to fight or renounce and leave the war. Overwhelmed with sorrow he drops his bow and turns to his charioteer and guide Krishna for advice on what to do. In the subsequent conversation as recorded in the Bhaghavad Gita or Song of God, Krishna, who reveals himself to be an incarnation of Vishnu, counsels Arjuna on his duty as a prince, a warrior and a righteous man, allowing him to enter battle and win the war for the Pandavas. The insight that we have an all-too-human need for wisdom in wielding power, and that such a union is made possible by divine intervention, is not unique to the Vedas. Prajna, wisdom or discernment and the Four Noble Truths – the truth of suffering, the truth of the cause of suffering, the truth of the end of suffering and the truth of the path that leads to the end of suffering – required the enlightenment of Siddhartha Gautama and instruction of the Buddha. King Solomon's wisdom, preserved in the Song of Songs, Proverbs, Ecclesiastes, Psalms and Odes had its source in the Lord, who ‘giveth wisdom: out of his mouth cometh knowledge and understanding’ (Prov. 2: 6). Jesus in the Sermon on the Mount (Matt. 5: 3–11) reveals the new foundations for blessedness and happiness where he declares that the poor in spirit, those that mourn, the meek, those that thirst for justice, the merciful, the pure of heart, the peacemakers and those who are persecuted will receive their reward in heaven. The Qu’ran is the written record of the laws and commandments of the All-Knowing and All-Wise Allah as revealed to the Prophet Muhammad by the angel Gabriel.

The philosopher king, both as a paradox and a promise, challenges all regimes by introducing wisdom as the new, preeminent qualification for rule. But this new source of authority is especially problematic for democracy, understood in its most general signification as the regime where the people are sovereign. The democratic principle of equality presumes parity in wisdom and judgement, justifying the sovereignty of all. Consequently, the democratic presumption that no one person is sufficiently wise to warrant sole rule makes the people wary and suspicious of any attempts to do so, regarding claims in the name of wisdom as in effect concealed oligarchic or tyrannical attempts at usurping democratic rule. Indeed, the modern democratic impulse, as we have seen, tends to disperse power to increase participation, rather than focusing and concentrating authority. It would therefore seem that democracy is the regime most opposed to the philosopher king so that the increasing contemporary authority of democracy portends the end of the modern philosopher king as a practical, if not theoretical, possibility.

Upon closer inspection, however, we see a more complicated picture of democracy's response to the philosopher king and, more generally, the relationship between philosophy and democracy, characterised by two divergent impulses that vie for authority. The first, as we will see, is an attempt to accommodate philosophy within the regime of popular sovereignty by locating and securing it within specific institutions overseen by larger representative structures. This solution is to be contrasted with the more ambitious democratic alternative, which claims that appropriate deliberative settings will allow ‘the people’ to become philosophers and sovereign, conclusively resolving the potential tensions between wisdom and power. Both approaches suggest that democracy provides the conclusive solution to the problem of philosopher king, not by rejecting wisdom but by democratising it by dispersing philosopher kings, either by locating them within institutions or by regarding the people together as the philosopher king. The success of these measures and their implications for both philosophy and politics is the core theme of this chapter.